Текст книги "Confessions of a Kleptomaniac"

Автор книги: Jessica Sorensen

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

I wish never had to go home.

“It sucks Coach isn’t letting you practice with us,” Logan says as I collect my books from the locker. “By the time you get your grades up, you’re going to be useless.”

“Gee, thanks.” I slam my locker shut then rest my shoulder against it. “You don’t have to be an asshole about everything. You do get that, right?”

He grins arrogantly. “That’s exactly what I’m supposed to do since we run this damn school.”

“Wow, what a fucking accomplishment.” My voice drips with sarcasm. “You know there’s like, maybe a hundred people who go to our school, right? That’s nothing.”

Logan doesn’t bother to move out of the way as a girl tries to squeeze around him to get to her locker. “God, you’ve been such a little bitch lately. What the hell is wrong with you? Is Piper not putting out or what?”

I push him out of the way, not very gently, to help the girl out, and he stumbles back, his shoes scuffing against the linoleum floor. The girl offers me a tense but grateful smile then quickly spins the combo to her locker.

Logan gives me a dirty look as he regains his footing. “Screw you, Grey. You think you’re better than you are.” He backs down the hallway, sneering. “Oh, yeah, and have fun with your little tutoring thing while all the rest of us who aren’t stupid enough to get put on academic probation work our asses off to hold up the team. I’m sure you’ll have a blast trying to learn shit from Luna Harvey.” He says her name like there’s something funny about it, probably because in tenth grade, he told everyone how she asked me out, and I rudely turned her down because I was a dick back then.

She was shier than she is now, and she wore clothes that covered up every inch of her body. The outfits were always weird, too. Like this one time, she wore a baggy sweater with bright yellow bears on it and a pair of baggy, tan pants that looked big enough to fit a guy. I want to say it didn’t matter to me, but I was a jerk back then. I cared way too much about what people like Logan thought of me. I didn’t understand that not everyone had enough money to buy whatever they wanted, including nice clothes. Now I understand more than I want to.

I understand a lot of things now, like when I saw Luna stealing stuff at Benny’s store. All those horrible outfits she used to wear were probably because she couldn’t afford anything nicer. She does dress better now, but I’ve seen her friends giving her clothes during school. It’s why I took her jacket. I didn’t want her getting into trouble like I did.

I stuff my books in the bag then back down the hallway in the opposite direction as Logan, calling out, “Well, at least I won’t be wasting my time hanging around at the meet up for the millionth time, getting trashed and waiting around for something exciting to happen that never does.”

He flips me the middle finger. “Yeah, I’ll make sure to tell that to Piper and Jane when I’m there tonight. Guess I’ll just have to entertain them both since your dumbass isn’t going to be there.” He thrusts his hips a few times before spinning around and heading off toward the gym.

As he walks under the banner advertising the fall formal in a few weeks, he jumps up, slaps his hand against it, and knocks it down.

He’s such an asshole. I don’t even know why I’m friends with him anymore other than I’ve been friends with him forever, and he’s just there all the time. I wish I had the balls to end our friendship. I want to with most of my friends honestly, but I’m not sure I could handle being alone. Of course, most of the time, I feel alone even when people surround me.

Bottling down my irritation, I shove out the doors that lead to the side of the school, ready to get the hell away from this place and everyone in it. But Piper cuts me off.

“Hey, baby,” she says, walking across the grass toward me. “I’m glad I caught you before you left.”

I’m not. “What do you want?”

“God, what’s with the attitude?” she snaps. “You’ve been like this for months now. It’s getting ridiculous.”

I take a deep breath and try again, reminding myself that I’m trying to be a better person, and this is not the way to do that. “What’s up?”

She arches her back, pressing her chest against mine. “See? There’s the old Grey I know.” Her fingers thread through my hair as she pulls me in for a quick kiss.

My jaw ticks. While I want to appear like I still have my life in control, I don’t want to be who I used to be anymore. I want to be someone different, someone nicer. I want to be someone who doesn’t lie to their father while he’s on his deathbed.

Piper starts yammering about the dance coming up next month, and I zone out, thinking about what my dad said to me right before he died.

“Make sure to live your life to the fullest. Do what makes you happy, Grey.” His eyes begged me to understand his full meaning as he clutched my hand. “Surround yourself with people who make you happy. I want you to always be able to look back on your life and be able to smile at all the great things you do.”

“And my dress looks so hot.” Piper hooks her arms around the back of my neck. “You’re going to seriously lose your mind when you see me in it.”

I feel like I’m banging my head against a wall. I haven’t asked her to the dance yet, and I don’t plan on it. Dances are expensive and overrated. Besides, I’m not sure we will still be together in a month when the dance is taking place. The only reason our relationship has lasted this long is because I went MIA for the entire summer after my father passed away and barely spoke to her or any of my other friends, for that matter. She didn’t care that much—no one did—and when we did speak, she complained that I was, as she put it, too depressing.

School’s been going for a few weeks now, and she keeps making comments about how different I am. I hate that she doesn’t understand. I tried to open up to her about it once, but again, she told me I was being too depressing and quickly shut down the conversation.

She doesn’t make me happy.

Why am I still with her?

“Sound good?” Piper asks, batting her eyelashes at me.

“Um . . . I guess so,” I say, unsure what I’m agreeing to.

She stands on her tiptoes and presses her lips to mine, giving me a deep kiss. “Yummy.” She moves back. “Oh, and Grey? No more taking girls around to the back of the school; otherwise, I’m going to get upset. And you know that, when I get upset, someone has to pay for it, and that’s usually the person who hurt me,” she says sweetly, but her eyes carry a threat.

I frown as she waggles her fingers at me then ambles back across the grass, swaying her hips.

God, I really need to break up with her, stop dragging out the inevitable. I just don’t know how to do it without pissing her off. Piper is all about the drama. I’ve seen her make it her mission to break down people she doesn’t like. She finds out their secrets and tells every person she knows. I don’t want to deal with that shit. I just want a quiet, normal life, a fresh start. A second chance to do things better, I guess.

I leave the school, feeling frustrated. As I’m rounding the corner of the building, I hear the sound of fabric ripping. The next thing I know, my books are scattered all over the ground.

Cursing, I slip off the backpack and look at the damage. It tore right along the seam, so I think it’s fixable. Still, getting home today is going to be a pain in the ass.

I bend over, pick up my books, and finish the walk around to the back of the school. I move past the cars and the shed woodshop takes place in, hiking all the way to the hill about a half a mile away from school. Then I duck into the trees and retrieve my rusty, piece of shit bike I hid this morning where no one could stumble across it or see me riding it to school.

I hate the bike more than I hate Logan. It represents how much my life has changed over the last few months—falling apart and barely able to hold up my weight. I wouldn’t even ride the damn thing except it takes about twenty extra minutes on foot to get home, and that would make me late to therapy/support/whatever you want to call it group. The only other option is to ride the bus, which is never going to happen. I could catch a ride with one of my friends, but they all have soccer practice right now. Besides, that might lead to questions they wouldn’t want to hear the answers to.

I push the bike out of the trees and onto the dirt path, feeling lonelier than I ever have in my entire life.

I make it home with time to spare, dripping in sweat.

“Grey, come play basketball with me!” my eleven-year-old sister Mia shouts as I pedal up the driveway.

“I wish I could, but I have to go somewhere,” I say as I jump off the bike and wheel it up to the garage.

She frowns as she dribbles the ball. “You’re always too busy.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” I prop the bike against the garage, feeling bad that I’ve been such a terrible brother lately. I’ve just been too busy trying to keep what’s left of the family together. “How about I set a couple of hours aside this Saturday for just you and me? We can do anything you want.”

Her eyes glint with hope. “Even if it’s going out for ice cream?”

“If that’s what you want to do.” I just hope I can scrounge up enough change for it.

She frowns again. “But we can’t afford stuff like that anymore. We can barely even afford food.”

“You shouldn’t be worrying about money, Mia. You’re just a kid.”

“Everyone else is always worried,” she mutters. “I even heard Mom talking to Aunt May about how we’re going to end up living on the streets. Is that true? Are we going to be homeless?”

Seeing her worry like this breaks my heart.

“No, we’re not going to end up homeless,” I say, though sometimes I worry about that myself. “Mom just says things sometimes when she gets really stressed.”

“But we’re poor. I know we are. And don’t people who are poor end up homeless?”

“Just because we don’t have as much money as we used to, it doesn’t mean we’re going to be homeless.” I take the ball from her and shoot a one-handed basket. “Now start making a list of all the things you want to do on Saturday, and we’ll make sure to do as much as we can.” That gets her to smile.

“Okay, but just a warning, it’s going to be super long with lots of crazy stuff,” she says as I jog up the stairs. “So be prepared.”

“I’ll make sure to be ready for all sorts of crazy stuff,” I promise her then open the door and step into the kitchen.

On the outside, the house still resembles the same home I grew up in: two stories with trees in the yard and a lawn I’m forced to mow. On the inside, it’s empty.

After my dad passed away four months ago from cancer, my mom has been selling off furniture, appliances we don’t need—pretty much anything she can until the house sells.

“We can’t afford it anymore,” she said to me the day a realtor showed up with a for sale sign.

“But this is dad’s house,” I snapped, angry that she was getting rid of the place that carried so many memories of him.

Tears welled in her eyes, and I instantly felt like the worst son who ever existed. “I know it is,” she whispered, “but, Grey, there’s not much else I can do. Your father and I . . . We didn’t plan for him to get sick and . . .” Tears streamed from her eyes as she stared at a framed picture of him on the wall. “I don’t know what else to do,” she repeated again, more to herself.

I dropped the subject after that, even though it kills me every time the realtor shows someone our house.

“You look tired,” my mom notes as she glances up from the stack of overdue bills on the kitchen table in front of her.

She’s the one who looks worn out with her eyes bloodshot, and she’s still wearing her pajamas. She used to be one of those moms who was always up and running before everyone else. Now she’s usually late for everything and doesn’t have time to clean up. But with everything she’s taken on, it’s not her fault, and she’s still a good mom.

“I stayed up late trying to catch up on assignments.” I set my torn backpack on the table covered with overdue bills. “Can you fix this?”

She picks it up and turns it over, examining the hole in the bottom. “I think I should be able to. What happened? Did you snag it on something?”

“No, it’s just old. I knew it was going to happen sooner or later.” I open the fridge and hold back a sigh at the lack of food inside.

“Honey, I’m so sorry,” she says. “I can buy you a new one if you want me to. I just got an extra couple of shifts at the diner and—”

“Mom, stop worrying. It’s not that big of a deal. It’s a backpack.” I open the cupboard and grab three packs of fruit snacks. My mom’s been bad about stocking the cupboards with food, partly because she’s distracted and partly because we’re low on cash. “I have to go to that thing again, but when I get back, could you drive me to Benny’s? He said to stop by today and fill out an application.” I begged him to let me apply because no one else in town would even consider hiring me after the shoplifting ordeal.

She presses her lips together, on the verge of crying. “I hate that they’re making you go to these sessions. It’s not fair, not after what you’ve been through.”

“We’ve all been through stuff,” I tell her. “I made the choice to do what I did. I’m just lucky the storeowner didn’t press charges. And I only have to go to them for a week more. I can make it one more week.”

She nods, dazing off, thinking about God knows what. It could be the bills, her nightshift at the diner she started working at after my dad died, her day job at the pharmacy, or her son who decided to steal a soda, a bag of chips, and a frozen package of steaks and got caught.

The owner agreed not to press charges, just as long as I attended this support group/therapy session. Since I live in such a small town, there aren’t any individual sessions, so I have to sit and listen to people who have gotten into trouble with drugs, stealing, vandalism—pretty much everything. I really do regret what I did. I was just really hungry and tired of eating fruit snacks and Top Ramen.

My mom removes her reading glasses and sets them down on the table. “Grey, I really don’t like the idea of you getting a job, especially when you’re already struggling in school.”

I glance down at Luna’s phone number on my hand. I felt like a dumbass when I had to write it down. I knew Luna was wondering why I didn’t just enter it into my phone. I didn’t lie to her about my friends breaking it. But the incident happened a couple of weeks ago, and right now, there’s no money to replace it, so I’ve been stuck using the house phone.

“We need the money.” I tear open a fruit snack bag, tip my head back, and empty the whole pouch into my mouth. “And besides, I found someone to tutor me, which by the way, I either need to borrow the car or need someone to give me a ride to the library later tonight.”

“Tutoring sounds expensive. Maybe I can help you.”

“I love you, Mom. I really do, but you’ve tried to help me with my homework before, and you always end up getting really pissed off when you can’t figure stuff out. Besides, the person who’s tutoring isn’t really a tutor. She’s just a . . .” I’m not sure what to call Luna. Up until the other day when I saw her steal from Benny’s store, we had barely spoken to each other, even if we have gone to the same school since kindergarten. We’re definitely not close, but at the same time, I feel like she might understand my situation, all things considered. “She’s just a friend, not an actual hired tutor.”

“Oh, okay.” She relaxes a bit. “That was really nice of her.”

“Yeah, it is.” I’m not surprised Luna agreed to help me, even with what happened our sophomore year. She’s just that way—really nice and sweet, something I’m not used to.

Stuffing the rest of the fruit snacks into my pocket, I wander back to my room to put my books on my bed. Then I pull out the envelope Beckett gave me. I’m still unsure what I’m going to do with the money inside—whether I’m going to spend it or not. I want back what I gave up for it, but my family needs the help. And once I spend it, what I gave to Beck will be gone forever.

I hide the envelope under my mattress where my mom won’t find it then leave my room. I yell bye to my mom then head out the front door before she can say anything to me. She’s been so stressed out over the last few months, and I hate that she now has to worry over her son’s life falling apart.

I’m trying to get my shit together; get my grades up, get a job, and start paying for my own stuff. If I wasn’t such a spoiled brat to begin with, the change might not have been so hard. But up until my father got sick, and even a little bit after, I was a cocky asshole who always got his way. I’m trying not to be that person anymore, though, because I get it now—what it feels like to have the whole world against you sometimes. And what it feels like to be truly ashamed of the person you are.

“You’re a good son, Grey,” were my dad’s final words to me. He looked up at me from his bed, pale and thin, just bones and skin, as he clasped onto my hand. “I’m so proud of the man you’ve become.”

He was wrong, though. I wasn’t a good person. I was someone who stood around and watched people get bullied and who did it himself sometimes. I was an asshole. Cocky. I had never done anything good. And I let my dad die thinking I was the opposite of who I was. I didn’t even have the balls to tell him the truth.

My eyes burn with tears as I wind around the corner of the block to the main street that runs through town. I wipe my eyes before I pick up my pace for the entrance door of the building where the sessions take place, noting the time on the town clock and realizing I’m early.

I slam to a stop when I spot Luna walking up the sidewalk in my direction with an older woman and man at her side. Either they’re her parents or her grandparents. I can’t tell because they look older, at least sixty or so.

Luna looks different than she does at school, more tense and depressed. She’s not wearing the shorts and tank top she had on earlier, either—the ones that show off her long, lean legs and smooth skin. I remember the first day she came to school dressed differently. It was toward the beginning of junior year, and everyone was talking about it. Some people were making fun of how she got the clothes.

“She must have robbed a store or something,” I remember Piper saying. “Seriously, there’s no way she can go from thrift store shit to designer.”

I didn’t say anything, only nodded along. I never really said much, which didn’t make me any better than the rest of them.

Not everyone was rude about it, though. I remember hearing a couple of my friends talking about her “hot ass.” She does have a hot ass, and those legs of hers go on for miles. But the outfit she has on now covers up all of that and swallows her body up.

“I still can’t believe what you’ve done,” the woman seethes at her as she jerks open the door to the building I’m supposed to be going into. “You know better than to have those kinds of things. After everything I’ve taught you about right and wrong, you should know better. You shouldn’t even want that kind of stuff.”

Luna enters the building, biting her nails, and the woman and man go inside with her.

I briefly contemplate the idea of ditching the therapy session and just going home. The last thing I want is for people at school to find out what I did or why I did it. I don’t think Luna is the kind of person to tell anyone, though, so I crack my knuckles, square my shoulders, and pull the door open.

The woman is still chewing out Luna as I walk in. Thankfully, no one else has arrived yet since she’s making a scene, and Luna looks horrified enough without an audience.

“It’s ridiculous that we’re even here,” she snaps, standing on her tiptoes to get in Luna’s face.

The man remains close to Luna, backing her into a corner, as if they’re trying to make “intimidate Luna” a team effort.

“I can’t believe my daughter has to come to a place like this, but you need to learn your lesson because clearly my punishments aren’t working anymore. Hopefully, this place can give you some insight on what’s going to happen to you if you keep heading in the direction that you are going. You’ll end up like these people: a drug addict, a thief, a whore. You’re going to turn out just like your aunt Ashlynn. Is that what you want to be, Luna, a whore? Because with those clothes I found and that makeup, that’s where you’re going to end up. You’re becoming such a terrible person.”

Whoa. This woman is intense.

I contemplate backing out of the room and waiting outside or maybe even stepping in and stopping them, but the man glances in my direction and gives me a judgmental look that pisses me off. I carry his gaze, daring him to say something to me. He glares at me before looking away.

Yeah, douchebag, look away.

The woman—Luna’s mom—fiddles with Luna’s hair and tugs on the bottom of her sweatshirt that already reaches her knees. Then she does the same to her own hair and button down shirt.

“You will have exactly ten minutes to get home after the class ends at five o’clock. If you’re late, you will get more punishments, do you understand?”

“Yes,” Luna mutters with her eyes fixed on the carpet.

“I’d pick you up myself, but your father and I have a church meeting,” she continues. “Your phone better show you at home at five ten.”

“I said I understand.” Luna squeezes her eyes shut.

“This is your own fault,” the man, who I assume is her dad, says in an icy tone. “You did this to yourself by making the wrong choices, choices that have embarrassed this family. Think about that while you’re here. Think about what a terrible person you are, how much you screw up all the time, and where that’s going to get you in life. Nowhere. That’s where. Losers always stay losers, Luna, so stop being one.”

With that, the two of them turn to leave. As they pass by me, the man gives me a nasty look, while the woman’s eyes narrow on me.

“See? That’s the kind people that belong here,” she whispers loud enough for me to hear. “He looks like a troublemaker.”

“I think that’s Gary Sawyer’s son,” the man replies as he shoves open the door. “So that’s no surprise.”

Hearing him talk about my dad that way makes me want to beat his ass. My dad was a good person, who yeah, let me get away with more shit than he should’ve, but he never yelled at me and tried to intimidate me by telling me I’m a bad person.

Getting into a fight with an old dude is the last thing I should be doing, though, so I curl my hands into fists and focus on breathing until the two of them leave the building.

“Goddammit,” Luna curses as she yanks off the sweatshirt and tosses it on the floor. “Why do they have to be my parents? Why? Why? Why?” She stomps on the shirt several times before she notices me standing there. Then her cheeks heat with embarrassment. “What are you doing here?” She sounds choked up.

“Probably for the same reason you’re here.” I point at the circle of fold up chairs in the middle of the room. “For the session.”

“Oh.” She scoops up the sweatshirt from the floor. “How long have you been standing here?”

I pretend to be casual, even though I just witnessed her parents rip into her. “Not too long.”

She assesses me as she ties the shirt around her waist. “You saw them yelling at me, didn’t you?”

I offer her an apologetic shrug. “How’d you know?”

She readjusts the bottom of her tank top that was hidden under the sweatshirt. “Because I know that look on your face. That look means you feel sorry for me. My friend Wynter gets the same look on her face every time she sees my parents get mad at me.” She pauses. “Thanks, though, for trying to lie about it and spare me the embarrassment.”

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed. They should.”

She eyes me over warily. “Even after the temper tantrum I just threw?”

“I would’ve lost my shit, too, if they were saying all that stuff to me.” I step toward her. “I would’ve yelled at them, though. You handled that better than most people.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” She frowns, unconvinced, and then forces a laugh that sounds all kinds of wrong. “I guess you just got a glimpse of what I can be like when I lose games, right?”

I don’t say anything. I’m not sure what to say. She’s embarrassed, but I don’t want her to feel humiliated. I want her to feel comfortable with me, especially since we’re going to be spending time together while she tutors me.

Her cheeks flush. “I’m sorry you had to see any of that. My parents are just really intense, especially when I’ve messed up.”

“I get it,” I say, though I don’t. Yeah, my mom and dad have gotten pissed off at me when I have gotten into trouble, but they usually just ground me.

“Do you?” she mumbles, staring off into empty space. “Because sometimes I don’t.”

“Everyone’s parents get pissed at them at some point or another,” I tell her in an attempt to make her feel better.

“But does everyone’s parents haul them to a group therapy session because they found makeup and nail polish and worry they’re going to turn into a prostitute?” she challenges then shakes her head. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. You don’t need to hear about my problems.”

“You’re fine, Luna. You can say whatever you want to me. I swear I won’t tell anyone.” I mean it, too. I owe her for what I did to her in tenth grade, and now might be my chance to make up for how horrible I treated her.

Apparently, she doesn’t believe I’m being that genuine because uncomfortable silence stretches between us.

“They really brought you here because they think you’re a prostitute?” I ask, breaking the silence.

“They think makeup leads to prostitution. And nail polish. And stupid, lacy, black panties,” she mumbles with an exhausted sigh.

Black, lacy panties? Is that what she has on under there? My gaze deliberately sweeps over her long legs, hidden by those loose jeans, her narrow waist, her chest, her lips . . . I tear myself from my lustful thoughts as she peers up at me through her eyelashes, looking as innocent as can be.

Okay, how the hell can her parents think she’s going to turn into a prostitute? She’s like the sweetest girl ever.

“You thought I was here because I shoplifted, didn’t you?” she asks, fiddling with the hem of her shirt.

“No,” I lie. That’s exactly what I thought when I first saw her here.

She continues to nervously wring the bottom of her shirt, pulling it high enough that I catch a glimpse of the bottom of her flat stomach. “It should’ve been why.” She swiftly shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I usually don’t ramble this much, especially to complete strangers. I think I’m just stressed out.”

“I’m not really a complete stranger, Luna.” I offer her a lopsided smile that seems to fluster her. “We’ve known each other for practically forever.”

“You kinda of are, though. I mean, up until the thing at . . . Benny’s”—she stares down at her feet again, seeming ashamed,—“we’ve said like maybe ten words to each other, ever since . . . well, you know.”

I want to apologize to her for the dance, tell her the whole story of what happened, tell her that I didn’t spread that rumor about her, but I’m not sure if that’d be enough. I acted like a dick when I turned her down for the dance. I could’ve just given her an excuse, told her I was busy, but no, I had say no fucking way because I was a cocky shit who wasn’t much better than Logan.

What would my father have done if he knew exactly how bad of a person I was? That I wasn’t the good man he knew? That, when I was at school, I was the opposite?

“So what if we didn’t used to talk? We’re talking now.” I duck my head to catch her eye. “You can say whatever to me. I mean, isn’t that why we’re at this place? To talk about our problems?”

“I guess so.” She stares at me for a heartbeat or two then sits down in one of the chairs and pulls out her phone from the pocket of her sweatshirt.

I watch her mess around with her phone for a bit. Her head is down; her long, brown hair concealing her face; and her shoulders are hunched over. While she’s usually shy, she’s not this timid and offish.

I finally sit down beside her. She doesn’t glance up at me, but I feel her tense as my shoulder brushes hers.

“Everything okay?” I ask, trying to get her to look up at me.

“Yeah, I’m good.” She clears her throat as she scoots over an inch.

It throws me off a little. Usually, girls move closer to me, not away. I guess I deserve it from her.

Her eyes remain on her phone, her fingers scrolling through texts messages. I try not to read what’s on the screen, but it’s hard not to glance down every once in a while.

Ari: So, if you bring your phone to school tomorrow and give it to me for a couple of hours, I can swap out phones. U can have a backup to take with you and one to leave wherever. That way, your parents can still get a hold of u whenever, but they won’t know where u r. Or they’ll think you’re at wherever your phone is, anyway.

Jesus, her parents are way beyond intense. It makes me feel even shittier for the stuff my friends put her through. Not only did she have to suffer through them teasing her, but she had to go home and deal with her parents.

She types a response, thanking Ari at least ten times before she switches to another thread.

Wynter: A new band I found that I think you’ll love. It’s not mix music or anything, but it’s got a good beat to it. Cheer up, girly. We’ve all got your back. Always and forever.

I feel the slightest bit jealous of Luna and her friends and how much they seem to care about each other. Mine have been giving me nothing but shit for getting put on academic probation. I couldn’t even imagine telling them about my other problems.

Luna clicks on an audio file titled “There’s No ‘I’ In Team” by Taking Back Sunday, and a song blasts through the speaker of her phone. She casts a panicked glance around the empty room then at me.

“Is it okay if I listen to this?” she asks. “Because I can turn it off if it’s bothering you.”

“You’re fine. In fact, turn it up.”

She relaxes as she cranks up the music and sings along. Apparently, she already knows the song. I lean back in the chair, stretching out my legs, and tap my fingers to the beat. She smiles at me when she notices my fingers drumming against my knees, and I return her smile. It’s probably the most content I’ve felt in weeks, and part of me wishes the song would keep playing forever so the moment would never have to end.